Cartography
by Word-Spitting-Dragon
Summary: When the Irkens start exporting dangerous goods outside of known Irken space, Zim and his fellow R.E.S.I.S.T.Y. members decide to take a look, hoping to expose something they can use to finally end the Irken Menace. But what lies out in the farthest, uncharted corners of space? And could it really help the rebel cause? ZADF eventually ZADR
1. Chapter 1

_**AU When the Irkens start exporting dangerous goods outside of known Irken space, the R.E.S.I.S.T.Y. decided to take a look, hoping to expose something they can use to finally end the Irken Menace. But what lies out in the farthest corners of space? And could it really help the rebel cause? **  
_

Deep in the fringes of the Gamma quadrant of Irken known space was a space ship of modest make and design.

The location of the ship was significant, because the Gamma quadrant was a vast quadrant harboring mainly empty or gaseous planets and few trade centers. It was an area popular amongst pirates, refugees and generally unsavory sorts – and that was within _Vortian_ known space. Due to their exploratory and conquesting nature, the Gamma quadrant of Irkenknown space boasted an additional two hundred light years but was just as barren as it's Vortian counterpart. In fact, _no one_ explored the far reaches of the Gamma quadrant because it was the general consensus of intelligent life forms everywhere that there was nothing of value past the few trade centers and habitable planets.

This ship had passed all of those things by at least a hundred light years.

Maybe the ship's location wouldn't be so peculiar if it was of the make of intergalactic explorers, like the Planet Jackers, which brought up another peculiar thing about this vessel.

It was of Vortian design.

Anyone who knew even the basics of Intergalactic History knew that all Vortian ships had been confiscated and dismembered after the Armada had '_acquired'_ Vort. It was highly illegal to even harbor the parts of Vortian vessels, unless explicit permission had been given. Those who had the permission were easily identifiable from those who didn't because they were stamped with the Irken symbol and typically used as prison transport vehicles.

Yet again, this particular ship surprised; it had no visible Irken symbol and therefore everyone within it knew they were in possession of a highly illegal vessel. It could only be assumed that the crewmembers were no friend to the Armada.

Some might even call them traitors.

Not that such a name would do anything but delight the ship's Captain.

In fact, he preferred the term 'rebel'.

Like all Vortian ships, the main command center of the ship was a large room with ceiling approximately thirty feet high. The high ceiling allowed there to be a stair like structure inside, dividing the bridge into three effective levels. Level one contained important, but non-essential staff to remain on the bridge. A good deal of the space on the lower level was dedicated to communication and science officers; even a few security officers and engineers. The space was wide and open enough that, if needed, as many as twenty active officers could aid the ship in defense, scanning, precision moves and a multitude of other functions that, while important, amounted to the bells and whistles when running the ship.

The next second level contained all essential staff, mainly the navigators, and a huge, 'U' shaped control board took up most of the space. Naturally, it was the helm that controlled all navigation and steering.

Finally, the top level contained the Captain himself. This way, the Captain could oversee all his subordinates and make suggestions when necessary without having to walk around the large bridge. It also helped that his chair was connected to a robotic arm that, if his chose, could carry him around virtually all the space within the bridge.

Currently the Captain, a Vortian of average and unremarkable size, was sitting in said chair in a leisurely pose that somehow still conveyed authority. Perhaps it was the way he slouched only just so to the left side of the chair; his left arm propped up under his chin while his right arm draped carelessly off the other armrest. Maybe it was the way his legs, reminiscent of a goat, were crossed at the legs or the way his head was tilted, just so, which somehow accentuated the ivory, semi-flexible horns atop his head.

Regardless of _why_ the relaxed pose conveyed authority, it was hardly an inspired idea that the Captain in question was Vortian, given the nature of his vessel. His large, olive green eyes seemed almost bulbous beneath his goggles and stood in stark contrast against his waxen skin.

No one could claim Lard Nar, Captain of the _Resistance for Exiles Seeking the Intergalactic Salvation of Terrestrial Youth _(R.E.S.I.S.T.Y for short), was anything less than a formidable commander. He led his people, and the movement they created, the same way a sailor might lead his ship from a storm. While others preoccupied themselves with escaping or fighting the gales and eventually sunk, he placed his fate in to Mother Nature's capable hands and was inevitably brought to the locus.

It was for this reason the Captain didn't hesitate when faced the next obstacle hindering his exploration of the Gamma Quadrant.

The ship had come to a small asteroid belt and, while not threatening to the ship, the maneuvers required to navigate the field would require the crew to either take turbulence or reduce speed. Before the helmsman could ask his superior for directions, the Vortian addressed him, "Lt. Spleenk." He said in a quiet, powerful voice, "Steady as she goes."

Spleenk nodded confirmation and his four tawny arms went to work at the helm reducing speed and preparing to maneuver the belt. He was Dleekan, and like all males of his species had a lilac circle in the center of his forehead (because crimson was for girls), had little nubs on the top back of his skull similar to bunny ears and sported a breathing apparatus that hung from his lips and connected to a methane tank strapped to his back.

The ship quieted with a tense silence, not because anyone was worried about the dangers of the belt but because it required concentration to maneuver.

At that precise moment, however, a shrill, rather obnoxious cry cut across the ship. "_WHERE IS HE?!"_ The voice demanded with such ferocity Lt. Spleenk suffered a minor heart palpitation and very nearly hit a small asteroid.

The Captain frowned.

He'd hoped to put off this encounter a little longer.

Whoever it was could be heard storming down the hallway to the lower level of the bridge. Several ensigns assigned to that area had stopped working to glance at each other and the door in infrequent, worried intervals.

Suddenly, the doors to the lower level flew open with such tremendous force it, for a moment, seemed to have spontaneously combusted.

The whole bridge, previously silent, began to resound with it's booming echo and a figure appeared from the gloom of the hallway.

In the doorway stood an Irken of above average height. His gloved arms were planted furiously on his hips and his large, ruby eyes seemed to glow with pure, undiluted rage. His antennae lay flush atop his head and the depth of their blackness seemed to only bring out the brilliant green of his skin.

At his appearance, absolutely everyone who had been looking at the door spontaneously decided they were overwhelmed with work and practically fused to their stations. No one dared meet the Irken's sweeping, accusatory gaze.

The Captain, who couldn't see the intruding Irken from within the door jam, seemed to innately know who had just barged in. "Commander Zim." He said in that calm, strong voice of his, "Whatever has gotten you so riled up?"

"_DON'T ACT INNOCENT WITH ME!" _The Irken practically flew into the room and stared defiantly up the two remaining levels separating them, his eyes ablaze. Within half a second, his PAK legs sprouted from the capsule on his back and he climbed up to the third tier where the Vortian sat.

Lard Nar found himself idly wondering if Zim had purposefully entered the first floor of the bridge, despite surely knowing the Captain would be on the third. Perhaps in order to make an even bigger spectacle of himself? Was he making a point?

Or an entrance?

Zim seemed to have no qualms getting right into his Captain's face and he marched right up to Lard Nar, leveling him with his best stare.

Despite the uncomfortably close proximity Zim had placed, the Vortian didn't flinch or hesitate, "Can I help you?" He asked in the supremely polite tone people used when they knew they _could_ help but had yet decided if they actually _would_.

Zim snarled, an angry purple flush rising to his cheeks where his blood pooled. "Explain to me, Lard Nar, _sir_," He spat, "Why _despite my warnings_, we are approaching the proverbial edge of the Gamma quadrant."

Lard Nar took half a second to ponder his Commander's question before he spoke, "While I understand your concerns, I have decided to proceed."

"Under- _understand my concerns?!_" Zim seemed flabbergasted, "Captain, it is not simply my _amazing_ concerns you must understand!" He growled and pulled a star chart out of seemingly nowhere to thrust at the Captain's face. "Have you even _read_ the report I sent your data pad?! Do you understand the _facts_ as well?!" He dropped his voice to a furious whisper so only Lar Nar could hear him. "As per the research _you_ asked for and, for unknown reasons, have _clearly_ forgotten to read, the mighty Zim must point out a severe problem in your little plan." The map, which Lard Nar had opened for curiosity's sake, now suffered a series of furious jabs as Zim pointed out several red marks all along the expanse of stars they were currently crossing. He explained, "Armada activity in this area has not only increased but several ships have gone _missing_ within the last week." He again hit the red marks to further emphasize his point. Apparently they were all where ships had disappeared. "Do you honestly intend to still take us out there?"

Lard Nar sighed, "I absolutely do, Commander."

"Why is Zim surprised? Of course you wish to test your might while we are hopelessly _understaffed_. Why would you not desire to embark on a suicidal mission into uncharted territory where people, shipments of _highly _volatile chemicals and Irken military equipment are constantly disappearing!" He hissed, furious.

Lard Nar smiled quietly, "Sarcasm is unbecoming on you Commander."

Zim threw his head towards the ceiling in an over exaggerated, all consuming eye roll, frustration clearly evident. "Captain, it is obviously crawling with the enemy. _Tallest_," he cursed, "It could even be the _Massive_ out there! The problem is _we don't know_. We have no knowledge of what is undeniably a very dangerous area out in _uncharted _space. No one's coming for us if we get into trouble."

The Vortian's small smile suddenly broke in a wide, mischievous way, "Why Commander, I wasn't aware anyone would come for us _anywhere. _Don't tell me you're scared?" Zim visibly bristled.

His PAK made a whirling noise that Lard Nar recognized indicating the Irken was pulling up some file and was about to read those facts, verbatim, to add to his argument.

The Captain didn't need to hear the statistics again; he already knew what Zim would say.

No less than thirty ships disappeared from the fringes of the Gamma quadrant this past year alone. At least a dozen freighters of machinery, weapons, and other unknown supplies would leave Vort every six months and disappear in this region, almost as if it had purposefully shipped here. Finally, and this piece of information the Irken didn't know because Lard Nar had hire an informant to do some digging, once in a blue moon a single ship would leave from the area. His informant had actually managed to get him a small piece of that shipment.

In the vastness of the Gamma quadrant, this type of activity might seem innocuous at first glance but the Vortian and his Irken Commander had spent the last few years piecing together a pattern.

The trail ended here, at the very end of known explored space, and the only way to learn more would be to follow the trail.

There was nothing more to be learnt on this side of the invisible divider.

They _had_ to cross.

"Hush." Lard Nar silenced Zim with a quick wave of his hand. He then interlaced his fingers, resting just enough of his head on the appendages to obscure his mouth. It was a contemplative gesture and one considered polite on Vort when speaking your mind. "You know I value your input, Zim." The Vortian began; Zim gave a curt nod, for he knew he had very valuable things to say. "_However,_ this time I believe I will defer to my own judgment."

Had this conversation come five years ago, when they had first met, Zim might have raged at the Vortian's impudence, arrogance or pigheaded-ness. Having known the Captain for years however, Zim was less offended and more expecting it.

Lard Nar was a very tactical person who, on rare occasions, could even school the mighty Zim with his plans. So the Irken decided he would only listen politely, as is Vortian custom, to his Captain before he decided whether or not the proposed plan would merit his corrections.

"Sir." Zim said, schooling his form into parade rest; he knew the Vortian would wish to discuss this further in private. It wouldn't help crew morale if they heard any more bickering. A decision needed to be made.

"Lt. Spleenk, you have the conn." Lard Nar announced. The tawny Dleekan spun around a little too quickly in his swivel chair and continued to rotate in circles as he gave a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

Satisfied, yet vaguely annoyed by the display, Lard Nar rose fluidly from his Captain's chair, his hoofed feet making a little '_click' _as he made contact with the ground. Zim did not need permission to know to follow him off the bridge and into a small hallway that lead to both the turbo lift and the Ready Room.

The Ready Room, situated to the left of the corridor, was a place the Captain took his top officials to discuss courses of action, particularly during combat, when one of the other conference rooms aboard the ship would be too far to feasibly use in time. Plain and simple, it was a soundproof conference room, exclusive to the Captain and his higher officers. Lard Nar had a habit of using it as a makeshift office, where he would evaluate crewmen who needed it and prepare propaganda, paperwork or other things to aid in the war effort. This way, he was always a convenient half-minute walk and ten second sprint away from taking command of his vessel if an emergency ever forced him back to the bridge.

When they entered the room, as usual, all but two seats had been retracted into the wall. The seats sat on either end of the huge conference table that was, predictably, covered in the Vortian's plans. A large map covered most of the table, and several data chips lie stacked in a neat little pile to the right. Zim recognized the map as the far corner of the Gamma quadrant – a place he was determined to persuade his Captain to abandon. He would have to wait and see if he would be victorious.

"Commander." Lard Nar fixed his bright golden eyes on his Irken counterpart and gestured to one of the chairs. It was the smaller of the two and resembled the type of chairs that might be seen in a business tycoon's office while he was conducting interviews.

Zim inclined his head a respectful degree. He knew that, because of the use of his title instead of his name, Lard Nar planned this conversation to be a professional one. Maybe he wished to avoid another open conversation like the one on bridge minutes earlier.

Zim forced himself to unclench his fists, recognizing the gesture for what it was. It was a challenge. Zim would be unable to full second guess his Captain unless it officially became and informal conversation. Otherwise, the Irken would appear mutinous and would be forced to follow Lard Nar's plan purely to prove he was not.

Either way, the conversation would play into the Captain's hands.

Clever.

Apparently the Vortian knew the Irken would not take kindly to whatever his news was – Zim tried to suppress an irritated sound as he plopped; _professionally_, yet distinctly annoyed, into his seat.

All he had to do was get Lard Nar to say his name, _without_ his title, and this conversation would become informal. That shouldn't be too hard.

"_Captain_." Zim practically purred and gestured to the other, larger chair. He tried not to sound overtly sarcastic.

Lard Nar rolled his eyes and took his seat. "I formally request that this meeting be informal in nature." The Irken declared causing his Vortian counterpart to exhale a rather large gulp of air that seemed suspiciously like a sigh.

"Request denied, _Commander._" The Vortian replied, "Will you at least listen to my reasoning _before_ you try and tell me how stupid you think it is?"

"Seeing as this is a formal meeting, _Captain_," The Irken hissed out the title in a vaguely insubordinate way, trying to annoy him into saying his name. Lard Nar liked to de-title people when they annoyed him. "Zim will not be able to express his amazing opinions unless you ask for them."

"Small favors." Lard Nar muttered, quelling the urge to yet again roll his eyes.

Zim decided it best to pretend he didn't hear him. Instead he turned his attention to the map, about to ask a question about the post-it note containing a circle that read '_planet?' _stuck to the far corner of the map. Before he could ask, however, something white inside a plastic bag piled amongst the data chips caught his eye. There was something about it that made Zim's greedy Irken instincts want to claim it.

"What's that?" He asked, curious.

"Hmm. I thought it might be the real stuff." Lard Nar mused, watching the way Zim's antennae twitched in anticipation.

"What's real, my Captain?" Zim asked, genuinely curious and no longer sarcastic.

"Sugar." The Vortian took the bag, emptied it upon the table and interlocked his fingers, carefully watching Zim from beneath his goggles.

Zim barely heard him. As soon as the bag opened, the Irken was assaulted with a sweet aroma so tantalizing he had to literally grab hold of his chair's armrests to prevent himself from jumping on the little mound of white powder. His claws dug deeply into the fabric of the chair and he tried not to inhale the delicious scent too deeply when he asked, "Why-? _No_." He amended, "_How _exactly did you get your hands on pure_… _refined_… natural…_" The Irken shook his head, the mere description of the sugar making his body itch with want. He had to pause and take a soft gasp of breath through his mouth so his antenna could not pick up even _more _of the treacherous scent. Luckily, Zim didn't need to finish painstakingly arranging a question because Lard Nar, who seemed amused by his Commander's struggle to remain in control, chuckled and said, "It's fine Commander. You can have it."

He knew full well trying to talk to an Irken with _sugar_ in front of it was a cruel and useless move – Zim wouldn't be listening to a word he said.

Zim tried not to look too pathetic when he asked, "Are you certain, my Captain?"

Lard Nar chuckled again at the Irken's rather desperate expression, "Yeah it's fine. I just wanted someone to make sure it's the real stuff and since you're our resident expert…" He trailed off, watching the way Zim's antenna danced atop his head, taking in the sugar's scent. "You can really tell that it's natural refined sugar by smell alone?"

"Captain." Zim said, a little too seriously, sitting straight in his seat. "Since the extinction of our _own_ natural sugar eons ago, it has become every Irken's _dream_ to taste the sweet, sweet natural phenomena at least _once _in their life time. Of _course_ I can tell the difference by smell alone!"

"Ok, ok I get it. I won't torture you any more, I said you can have it." Lard Nar said with a wave of his hand; dismissive, as if he had _not_ just given Zim the second greatest gift he could ever bestow on an Irken (The first being a chance at conquest).

Zim tried not to sound _too _grateful as he thanked him, _repeatedly,_ and practically began inhaling it.

Lard Nar stood from his seat and paced. "I had _hoped _that it wasn't _real_ sugar when I first saw it. One of our contacts intercepted this from an Irken trade vessel coming out of the Gamma quadrant. To be precise, from here." Lard Nar jumped back into his seat and pointed triumphantly at a section on the map. It was about two inches from where the post-it note was taped to the map.

"Let me guess." Zim replied, licking his fingers rather shamelessly, "You think it's coming from the sticky note."

"_Not the note- it-"_

"Zim was joking." The Irken interrupted with a roll of his eyes. Geez, you have a vaguely psychotic episode _one time _and they never let you live it down. "You actually believe there to be a planet on the fringe of Gamma space and you believe that is where the sugar came from." He stated, watching his commanding officer with curious eyes.

"Yes." Lard Nar said, sitting fully in his seat, excitement turning to something more serious. "I have reason to believe there to be a great deal more of it under Irken control. I shouldn't have to explain to _you_ of all people why this is a problem."

"Problem? You mean _besides_ the fact I could gladly sustain myself on this tiny ounce of sugar you gave me for _at least _week? How could that ever be a problem?" Zim asked innocently, clearly enjoying the way his Captain twitched with irritation.

"Zim be serious." Lard Nar replied testily. "You _know_ that if the Armada gets their grubby claws on this type of resource we can kiss the rest of the free galaxy goodbye."

Zim's antennae had perked up at the mention of his name. He purposefully ignored the Vortian's comment and instead asked, "Is your use of my name a deferment to an informal discussion, Captain?"

Lard Nar paused, realized his rare slip up and grit his teeth. He knew Zim, by Vortian diplomatic laws, now had a perfectly proper reason not to participate in the _formal_ conversation because Lard Nar had just accidentally named him. And Zim knew it too.

"Fine." He ground out, clearly annoyed, "Informal discussion granted."

"Good." Zim smiled rather serenely and licked the last of the sugar off his fingers. Then, with great flourish, he jumped to his feet with an insane shout. He jabbed a claw accusingly at his Captain. "Have you lost your filthy Vortian _mind_?!" Lard Nar sighed and slumped in his chair, resigning himself to the terrible rant he was trying to avoid. "You just found out that, _on top_ of the strange disappearances, highly volatile military grade chemicals _and_ advanced weaponry emanating from that section of space, that _sugar, PURE sugar_ is also coming _out. _And your plan is to go _in there_!?" He pounded a claw onto the table with an ominous thud, "How can I get it into your empty, fluff filled head-cavity that this is _completely _insane, even by the amazing standards of _me, _Zim! We are understaffed, un-supported and unprotected. Our lasers and warp drive are offline. You bring us into that section of space, Lard Nar and it's as good as suicide."

"Acknowledged Zim. I never said it was the _smartest_ plan, but it's the necessary one." The Vortian countered with a grim determination about him.

"_HOW?!" _Zim pounded at the conference table with his fist, "_How _could this _possibly_ be a _necessary_ move?" He demanded, "Captain, it is pertinent that we gain more recruits and improve public support _before_ making a move that could possibly lead to war!"

"And here I thought you'd jump at the chance to find where this sugar is coming from." Lard Nar joked.

Zim was livid. "_Not at the risk of our entire crew!" _

"Zim." Lard Nar said his name in the quiet, powerful way he spoke when issuing commands, humor evaporated. "I am not saying we're going to attack whatever we find. This will be a covert mission for informational purposes only. You know no one in known Irken space would _dare_ help us unless we had compelling proof that things can and _will_ get a lot worse than they already are if we do not act. This is how we can convince them. If we want our approval and our recruitment to go up, we have to take this risk. It's the only _possible _way for us to achieve the informational assets we need to turn public opinion on the R.E.S.I.S.T.Y's side. If we don't do this, we stay a small time resistance that will ultimately pitter out without achieving _anything _and the Irken will remain in power and unchallenged."

"And if we _do _take this risk," Zim mumbled moodily, "We become a band of idiotic _smeets_ who tried to take on the Armada without a plan and_ died _a futile death."

"Zim. I've made my decision." Lard Nar spoke firmly, he laid his hands on the table and leaned towards Zim, daring him to dispute the facts. "For the good of the resistance, we _must _find out what is going on out there." When Zim showed no inclination to resist, he took a deep breath and again settled into his contemplative pose. "Now, I could really use my Commander behind me, especially since you're the only one on this ship with the necessary subterfuge to survive this type of mission."

Zim studied the Vortian, saw the way his olive green eyes sparkled with a grim determination, and sighed. "I may not always agree with you, my Captain, but Zim is always at your disposal." He saluted in the way of his people; an Irken military habit five years working under Lard Nar had yet to erase. It didn't matter; the Vortian had come to associate the gesture with complete devotion and determination on Zim's part.

He would not fail.

**_A/N I wanted to make this chapter a little longer, but decided to take more time for the next one so I don't leave ya'll with too many cliffies! :P_  
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**_Anyway, I'm doing this to practice writing styles - it'll take about 30+ chapters, maybe more to finish. Constructive criticism would be appreciated and I'd love to try having a beta if anyone's interested - preferably someone who can whip me into shape and make me write! lol_**


	2. Chapter 2

Zim and Lard Nard spent the next two weeks getting everything up to speed. While the Captain led a team of engineers on the efforts to fix the ships warp core, which was currently working at half it's full speed, Zim was organizing a small two man team to accompany him on his covert mission planet side. Due to the nature of the information they might come across, that meant Zim could only pick from clearance personnel. With the low amount of available staff they had on hand, due to the unachievable recruitment quota, there weren't very many people to choose from.

Not many _acceptable_ people anyway – and Zim used that term loosely.

Zim was in the training simulator, effective on medium, as he watched Lt. Spleenk try and fail to preform a basic evasive maneuver. He was never very athletic.

Unfortunately, Zim couldn't pick from most of the clearanced athletic crew because several of them were taller than he. Normally, height was not a big deal – especially on a Vortian run ship, as he'd come to begrudgingly learn, but when planning on infiltrating a hidden Irken Outpost it became crucial. Zim's height was already pushing it for Irken Status; at five feet seven inches no one would believe he was just a lowly foot solider any more. He would be unable to sneak past other Irkens unseen with a flimsy excuse like he used to – one of the few reasons Zim ever found himself missing his Smaller status.

Had he still been tiny, he probably could have accomplished this infiltration on his own. As it was, his height would attract enough attention that, if spotted, it would be strange and dangerous for him not to have a few 'underlings' to protect him.

It made sense for a Taller to be running around a secret base with two Smaller underlings to kick around. It showed that he was powerful – official. No one would look twice at him or his team; they'd create a camouflage just by walking around together.

Zim was certain he could talk his way out of almost any situation he encountered but only _if_ his crew was shorter than him.

It didn't matter if they all wore holographic disguise watches or not, if a Taller Irken was running around with a group taller than he it would draw all the wrong questions from all the wrong people. Worse, he had to keep his group down to only two – Taller Irkens weren't allowed more than two 'assistants' in their work, least they get too cocky.

Essentially, Zim had the very difficult job of picking two suitable officers from an already limited crew who had proper clearance to see the possible secrets they might uncover _and_ who had a low enough height not to give them away.

If only the Captain could come, everything would be so much simpler; he was one of the only competent crewmembers who fell under the typical Irken height range of four feet eleven inches to five feet five inches.

Zim sighed. It of course would be impossible for Lard Nar to assist him, it was already risky enough to the R.E.S.I.S.T.Y that they were risking him, their second in command, on this operation. And so Zim had a very short list of very undesirable candidates to look through before they reached whatever planet or station or _whatever_ was out in uncharted Gamma space.

Zim sighed watching Spleenk fail yet another simple evasive maneuver – he was definitely that last person on Zim's list to come with him. The Dleekan was pretty much useless. He _was_ however, an incredibly competent flyer, better than Zim would be in any aerial chases they might have to avoid, and so even with his _almost_ too tall height of five feet five inches, Spleenk was actually, unfortunately, one of the best candidates for the job.

Just as Zim was mulling over the finer points of how the Dleekan _might_ be competent, he suddenly tripped over his own two feet and accidentally shot a phaser beam into the wall.

Right.

Above.

Zim's.

Head.

The Irken tried to resist the urge to throw his face into his open palms and cry.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o

The Commander's quarters weren't anything unusual of a Vortian starship. Like most, the whole thing was a large rectangle, which was dived in half with a large wall that covered 3/4th the distance of the room, leaving a door-like opening to connect the two spaces. The wall separated the office/living room space and the bedroom space so the Commander could maintain the privacy of his sleeping area when he needed to invite a crewmember into his quarters to give them an evaluation or reprimand in the office area. It was sparsely furnished, with a big desk and two chairs – one on either side of the desk, and a plain couch in the office/living area. Behind that space in the sleeping area was a large bed, an Irken recharge station Zim had hooked up and a built in closet along the far wall. There was even a door to the left of the area that lead to a private bathroom Zim shared with the Captain, whose quarters were connected to it on the other side. Lard Nar had more or less the same set up, with about ten extra cubic feet in his office so his office/ living space could hold and extra couch and a private replicator/mini bar so he could privately entertain high-ranking officials who might visit his ship – such as diplomats.

It was a set up, which would never have worked on an Irken ship, where the second in commander had_ almost_ all of the same benefits the Captain did. It was a sacrilegious, almost mutinous concept to an Irken, whose leaders were almost akin to living gods.

Zim loved it.

It constantly reminded him he was as far away from Irk and her Armada as possible.

Currently, Zim sat in his office with a small electronic notepad of Irken make, the kind that was retractable and easily digitized into PAK information, and held a stylus at his lip. He was currently deep in thought over whom to bring with him and was sorting out their pros and cons on a weighted scale to see if anyone would be a clear victor he could bring.

They all failed.

It basically came down to intelligence vs. competence.

Lard Nar and Zim had been so busy with maintaining other parts of the resistance; they kind of let training slack. Basically, the entire ship was divided down the middle between nerds ad jocks, with only a handful branching the gap. Unfortunately, with the exception of Lard Nar, everyone who bridged the gap was taller than Zim.

It was disgraceful.

Had this been an Irken ship, everybody would be a combat specialist and the top of their chosen intellectual field. There would be no discrepancy between their competency in one subject or the other, they would be essentially equal – brain _and _brawn.

The R.E.S.I.S.T.Y was more brain than anything – it took a really intelligent being to look at all the facts and decide to start a revolution.

Or stupid.

That was where the few brawny members came in.

Had Zim been using paper, he might have scrunched it up and angrily thrown it in the trash or perhaps shredded it. Instead, he just used his stylus to angrily swipe at his PADD. He didn't even bother to look up from his maniacal swiping tirade when his door chimed. He grunted an angry acceptance, still glued to his work and growled, "We need to get on fucking top of training these recruits."

Lard Nar, who had literally only taken one step into the room when Zim spoke, crossed his arms in a bemused fashion and sauntered the rest of the way into the room. A smile upon his lips, he waited until the door _whooshed_ shut behind him before saying, "Noted, dear Commander."

Zim slammed down his stylus in a way that would make anyone flinch, stood up and shot the Vortian his best glare. Infuriatingly, the Captain's smile seemed to only grow by the teeth at his action's, wider still when Zim said, "I'm glad to see an ill prepared crew amuses you."

"We actually _are _battle ready. Our mishmash works just fine on a ship." Lard Nar shrugged nonchalantly, still smirking.

"Yes well, _I'm _not going to be on a ship am I?!" Zim scoffed, swiping his hand across the PADD angrily. "Just _look_ at these profiles! Not _one_ well rounded recruit I can trust! I either have to muscle my way out or think myself out!"

"You know, we also _do _have plenty of well-rounded recruits too." Lard Nar laughed softly, clearly enjoying Zim's plight. "Why not use one of them?"

Zim's eyes flashed, clearly noticing the bait and angrily accepting it, "_Because they're all TALLER than me!_" He bellowed, smashing his hand on his desk to punctuate his outcry. "Are you _happy _now?!"

"Actually, I'm a perpetually unhappy person." The Captain replied, suddenly very serious. His stoic expression only ruined by the way the corner of his lip hooked up in to an ill-disguised smirk.

"Get out." Zim growled, plopping back down into his chair making an irritated clicking and popping sound.

"Such language Commander!" Lard Nar replied with mock distress and grabbed a chair, uninvited, so he could sit in front of Zim. "You forget I can speak Irken too. What would your mother say?"

"You know Irkens don't have mothers." Zim scoffed, incredulous. "And if we _did_ then those robotic arms would do a terrible job of it."

"Or maybe they'd do a fine job if their kids didn't stuff other kids back up the tubing." Lard Nar mused, resting his elbow on Zim's desk.

Zim's antenna flattened against his head. He carefully shifted his PADD away from his Captain's elbow, which was quickly taking up most of the table, as if the thing couldn't be trusted near his data. "And maybe they'd do an even better job if their planet's well being didn't hinge on whether or not kids stuffed other kids in tubing."

"Yes well. You can talk to the engineers about that one." Lard Nar replied, looking less and less like their fearsome leader and more like a bothersome child as he stretched his arms across Zim's desk, nearly engulfing the whole thing. Zim discretely put his PADD into his lap.

"Zim did." He replied primly. Then the Irken paused, red eyes bright, his nasal ridge crinkling. "I wasn't aware you had time to socialize Captain." He said quietly, as if he just realized the pleasant chatter they'd been enjoying was no longer professional. In fact had barely masqueraded as that to begin with.

"Ah." Lard Nar said, "You caught me." He sighed and flicked one of his horns with a long, pale finger. It wobbled slightly. "Indulge me a little, won't you Commander. I've been in that darn warp core all day."

"Well, if we had better recruits or better trained staff, you wouldn't _need_ to be." Zim replied.

Lard Nar gave a dramatic sigh, "Alas, not even my own Commander will take pity on me!"

"Yeah, yeah." Zim rolled his eyes skyward and turned his attention to the PADD in his lap, ignoring the Captain in favor of swiping through its digital contents. "Some of us still have real work to do, you know. Forced upon us by ignorant, headstrong-"

"Careful Commander," Lard Nar cut him off with a smile, drawing neatly folded hands beneath his chin. "I might misinterpret that as an compliment."

"Then your hearing is faulty too." Zim scoffed, getting to his feet and staring at his device. He didn't have time for such nonsense now; if the mission were to succeed he needed to spend every minute on these reports. There had to be _some _way to form an acceptable, no, _admirable_ crew.

There just _had_ to be some way!

"Here, let me see." Lard Nar's hand quickly snaked out and plucked the PADD out of Zim's hand before he had time to react more than an annoyed, '_Hey!_' in protest. The Vortian pursed his lips and, after a second's thought, his fingers began to nimbly dance across the screen. Zim wasn't exactly certain what he was supposed to do in the meantime so, reluctantly, he sank back into his chair and propped his head upon his arms.

"They're pretty much useless." The Irken sighed, watching his Captain work. "There's not much in the way of viable-"

"_Done!_" Lard Nar proclaimed proudly, handing the PADD back.

Zim blinked and stared at the device dumbly. He cautiously took it when Lard Nar shook his hand impatiently; emphasizing that holding it out to him was starting to get tiring. His antenna flattened against his skull in bewilderment. "How-" Zim started weakly but cut himself off, quickly swiping across the screen.

His Captain could _not_ be serious.

Zim suspiciously looked at Lard Nar's face to see if he was joking. It was apparent by his smug expression that he was not. Zim frowned. "Captain." He began, pained by the stupidity of the choices and extremely confused, "You did _look_ at the recruits you chose?"

Lard Nar just smiled that mysterious way he usually did whenever he knew something Zim didn't and said, "Just thought I'd help you out Commander." He paused, "Of course, you don't _have _to take my advice." And with that, even though it was only 300 degrees standard ship time, he bid his second in command good night, got up and left.

"Night to you too." The Irken muttered under his breath, watching him go with an annoyed expression creasing his nasal and brow ridges.

Zim didn't bother stopping him, he'd gotten used to his Captain's whimsy long ago.

Instead he merely looked down at the roster and sighed.

Great.

That was how, less than two weeks later, Zim found himself in a small, three man version of a Vortian Voot called a 'Diver' with two of the most hopeless members of the Resisty (according to Zim) and Lard Nar's most 'trusted' crewmates.

Lt. Shloonktapooxis and Lt. Spleenk.

Zim had spent the majority of the remaining weeks drilling the two on basic combat maneuvers in hopes of somehow evening them out. It hadn't really helped.

Spleenk, with all his extra fumbly limbs, was all left feet on the battlefield, and Shloonktapooxis was a weapon specialist who was literally a floating cone. He was better at _telling _people about weapons than operating them and maybe that was find on the ship, but Zim failed to see how two officers who couldn't even properly calibrate their own phasers would be of much use planetside.

It wasn't like the Irken hadn't had some small inkling this might happen; the Captain had been trying to prove their worth to Zim for years. But between the dangerous stealth mission and the dire need for information, Zim had at least hoped the Captain would want this little endeavor to actually _work_.

Obviously he just wished to take amusement in their deaths.

Because now this was, without a reasonable doubt, suicide – at least according to Zim anyway.

And when had he ever been wrong?

"Commander, we are ready for launch, on your order." Lt. Spleenk said, shaking Zim from his thoughts. He swiveled about in his chair and saluted a little too enthusiastically. Zim sighed.

Both Shloonktapooxis and Spleenk had insisted on practicing their 'Irken Mannerisms' since they learned they would be accompanying him. As Zim was the only Irken on the ship and neither one had been in close contact with actual Irkens this inevitably lead to them trying to 'Zim-ify' everything they did. It only served to fuel Zim's displeasure with both of them and lead to some very annoying, over-enthused gestures that Zim found downright insulting. Like the salutes. He didn't bother correcting them, though.

The worst part was they actually _were_ acting like Irken underlings.

Not that he would ever tell them that.

Zim glared, already annoyed. This mission was off to a good start, "_Just_." Zim rolled his eyes, there wasn't anything getting mad could do, and so he let his command out as a huge sigh, "Call the Captain and tell his we're ready."

"Aye, aye, Commander!" If Spleenk kept up that dumb salute, Zim doubted he could keep placating himself with the false '_getting mad doesn't help_' and counting to ten that Lard Nar taught him. Before the Irken could so much as growl, Irene, the current Lieutenant at the helm, popped up in the right hand corner of their View screen.

"The Captain has heard you and the cargo bay is clear. Preparing your vessel." She said primly, eyes bright beneath a hood that shadowed her entire face.

Zim leaned back in his chair and watched through the view screen as the sealed doors of the cargo bay began to open. Normally, they would be sitting in one of the many launch wings situated along the side of the ship where the shuttles were kept but Zim, being rather superstitious, had refused and insisted on the Diver. There was no way he was taking a ship that doubled as and emergency escape vessel out on a probably hopeless mission. That was just bad juju.

When the cargo bay doors were fully opened, Lt. Irene said, "Waiting on your signal. You may launch at the ready." Zim expected her to end the call then, as the formalities were over, but Irene's eyes crinkled slightly and although he couldn't see her face he knew she was smiling. "Oh and Commander," She said, eyes laughing, "The Captain wanted me to tell you, 'Have fun'."

Zim growled, "You can assure him, I _won't_." And with that he punched control on the arm of his chair to end the call, fuming. The fact that Lard Nar seemed to think his position was hilarious did not help his mood. He fumed for a few seconds longer until he caught the eyes of Spleenk and Shloonktapooxis, whom seemed unsure what to do. "Yes, yes. You may begin to disembark." He snapped with a wave of his hand.

"You got it!" Shloonktapooxis exclaimed, using the psudo-antenna atop his cone to give a mock salute. Zim rolled his eyes with a sigh.

This was going to be a _loooong_ mission.

He slumped down into his seat, watching the image of the cargo bay quickly melt into the open space. They swung out around some ringed gas giant only two planets from their destination. They easily sailed through the asteroid belt after passing the first one, a gas giant, and continued past a small reddish rock one. Finally, after several degrees, their destination, a little green and blue planet, came into view illuminating the screen.

It wasn't anything special, a class M planet roughly one-tenth the size of Irk and one-eighteenth the size of Vort. It was a typical rock planet covered in water that housed approximately seven average sized continents containing everything from deserts to lush forests.

Zim's claws tightened upon their armrests; somewhere down on that seemingly innocuous little world lay an Irken outpost of unknown potential. It had to be dangerous, the evidence clearly supported that, but they were going to find out exactly _how_ dangerous. And if it was too risky to leave it alone, they would salvage what information they could and sabotage the place.

At any costs.

**I know the end's a little sudden but hope ya'll liked - I was going to write more but figured I'd kept you all waiting long enough. After starting my new job and summer sessions at the college I've had A LOT of work and not a lot of time, so it's been hard to write. :/ Sorry for the delay, will try to get the next chapter out two weeks from now but we'll see! Thanks for the continued support and please review if you have constructive criticism or, ya know, just enjoyed it.**


	3. Chapter 3

The prison wasn't a very unusual sight on an Irken conquered world. It was used to house prisoners, but also the citizens left on the planet that were free – if they could still be called that. Half the population of the prison woke at dawn every morning, piled into various shuttles or transport chambers and were sent across the planet to various sugar fields where they would toil all day under the hot sun with little breaks or water. They were called the Workers and they would continue to work until their bodies gave out or they were transferred to a different class, which typically was to the Experiment class.

The other half, the Experiments, was made of elderly, young or defective natives; those who could no longer work the sugar fields or were too weak for manual labor to begin with. They were test subjects used as targets and guinea pigs for dangerous Irken military experiments and weapons.

A small handful of those, the ones who were more pleasing to look at, smelled less and had gentler, more subservient mannerisms were assigned as slaves in various facilities, where they would clean, cook and do general busywork the Irkens themselves were above. These were the Servants.

Finally, there was a tiny handful of what were called Outsiders. These were natives that somehow not only survived the initial sweeper cannon, but the military forces that cleansed the planet on conquest and, until capture, had never worked under the iron boots of the Irkens. These were crafty creatures that had lived in the wilds of their planet for almost as long as the Irkens had owned it. They were incredibly difficult to catch and the few that had been caught resided on the far side of the prison in maximum-security cells where they sat in complete darkness until they were fit for work or completely insane. The Irkens would use all kinds of methods to get these prisoners to submit, beatings and starvation were among the most common but there were several even crueler guards who used more _questionable _methods. The only way for a prisoner left in these horrific conditions to be freed was to either rat out the remaining Outsiders they knew of, where they would be rewarded with the cushy Server status, or pledge themselves to the Armada, where they would become a Worker. If insanity were to come _before_ the prisoner ratted the others out or pledged itself to the Armada, then it was simply disposed of.

No use keeping a broken toy.

With one, single exception.

There was _one_ prisoner incarcerated within the facility that was considered both dangerous and insane – yet he was still alive.

It was because the Armada was desperate for him to rat out his colleges, not that they would ever claim desperation, but his multiple raids on Sugar Mines, sometimes freeing humans or killing Irkens, made him a dangerous priority. He was supposedly the ringleader but none of the other natives knew him, so the Irkens assumed he was a figurehead who knew where the _real _threat was hiding. That was the _only_ reason the abomination still lived.

They needed to quash this rebellion before it got any bigger; it was starting to give some of the inmates _hope_.

And that's why the events that transpired that evening were so important.

It was a little past three am when it happened.

Inside a maximum security cell sat a small figure, unmistakably an Outsider, wrapped in a white coat, similar to a straight jacket. It wasn't the first time the prisoner had worn such a thing, even if it was a more advanced version, and he couldn't help but feel it wouldn't be the last. He felt a small amount of humor as he began wiggling his arms about the coat and couldn't help but chuckle to himself. There was a small sense of irony in the fact that it would be how _used_ to being bound that would aid in his escape from _aliens_ of all things. Even _he _might not have believed himself a few years back.

With a small jerk of the wrist and another arch of his back the prisoner suddenly found the jacket limp on his body, loose enough to remove. He smiled quietly to himself and enjoyed the sensation of the looser clothes for a second before moving on to faze two.

He took a deep breath of air, expanding his lungs a far as possible, and screamed. It was a hideous, inhumane noise, like that of a dying animal and he _knew_ they'd come at the sound of it. He was important after all.

After only three days of imprisonment his stupid captors had yet to figure out he would _never_ tell them what he knew, so until that fact became apparent they couldn't risk him dying. They had a rebellion to quash after all.

The prisoner began to count the seconds as they passed after his scream, if he was right about how the guards were spaced, the first one should be a ten second sprint from him, with another guard a mere thirty seconds behind. That mean he had half a minute tops.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, just as a guard burst in, screaming in Irken.

"_What _the _hell_ is going on in here!?" The guard, who couldn't see the state of the straight jacket in the pitch black, stormed into the room, forgetting to close the door behind him. Or maybe, he incorrectly assumed that just because he saw the jacket draped across the prisoner's body, that he was helpless.

It became very apparent that he indeed thought there was no danger when his footsteps stopped directly behind the inmate.

Too bad for him.

A vicious smile ripped up the side of the prisoner's face as he leapt up from his sitting position. In the split second it took for him to stand and pivot to face the guard, he had already ripped off his straight jacket and flung it over the guard, blinding him. He swiftly delivered a roundhouse kick to the back, hitting him in the tender spot directly below the PAK and flinging the hapless guard deeper into the cell, face first.

It wasn't worth the time it would take to kill the guard; he'd already lost a good ten seconds.

Before his victim could recover, the prisoner dashed out of his cell, taking only a second to lock the door.

"Four, two, three, seven, _five!_" He sung in a triumphant, insane way as he punched in the code to seal the door. The door chirped the harmony back as each number was pushed. _Maybe next time, these scum will invest in silent locks, _He thought smugly to himself as the door swung closed just as the guard, who had regained his bearings, charged at the door.

Too slow!

Oh how he screamed.

"Now," The prisoner muttered to himself, ignoring the banshee wails of the imprisoned guard, "If I can get out of sight within the remaining fifteen seconds, the second guard should waste another thirty seconds to a minute freeing Skippy here." He nodded quickly, scanning the terrain as he tried to work through the next portion of his plan. His eyes roamed across the deserted halls, trying to ignore the sounds of frantic footfall when –_there!_

He sprinted across the hall to where a Servant's janitorial equipment lay, most importantly, where a large garbage bin was. Then he rolled it as close as he dared to his cell. He squeezed himself in between the garbage bin and the wall rather than jumping into it, he wasn't stupid, and waited. His heart hammered in his throat and he took several long breaths through the nose, attempting to calm himself when he heard more shouting from his cell. The other guard had arrived.

The other guard, seemingly a female Irken if her curled antenna was any indicator, yelled furiously at the cell, "_Stand back!" _Obviously, she still seemed to think the prisoner was in there and with no evidence to the contrary, she prepared her electric spear so she could stab whatever was shouting bloody murder. Thank god the first guard was an idiot, he was screaming curses instead of conveying the situation to his hapless comrade. They would both probably be punished later.

A soft little tune cut through the shouts, '_four, two, three, seven, five'! _signifying the code had been punched into the door lock. As soon as the door began to slide open the prisoner took the opportunity to scream as loud as he could, startling the guard standing in front of the opening door so bad she dropped her spear. Before she could recover or the other guard could run out, he slammed the garbage bin into the second guard, successfully slamming _her_ into the first guard.

They both went flying into the cell with a myriad of curses.

A quick sweeping motion allowed the prisoner to grab the electro-spear the female had dropped, now he was armed, and then he punched in the door sealing code, hollering, "_Four, two, three, seven, five!" _in badly accent Irken so they knew that _he_ knew. Maybe the taunt wouldn't be helping anyone else escape when they replaced the locks with silent ones, but he couldn't help goading them, enjoying their curses and screams. Besides, its not like silent locks would affect _him_.

He had no intention of being captured ever again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Zim was having a pretty bad day.

His mood already started off sour because he _hated_ wearing the Armada's uniforms, even if pink was his color and even the fact that they were only a holographic illusion could not placate him.

But that was not why his day was majorly sucking, no it was terrible because, from the second they entered the Earth's atmosphere, this mission was doomed to have _everything_ go wrong.

First off, after scanning the planet and finding the base of operations, the Diver was on it's merry way to a place where it could land when Spleenk jerked the steering and flew heavily off course. In the Dleekan's defense an unscheduled patrol had flown so close that, had he _not_ swerved off course their mission would have ended before they got there. Zim was actually a little bit pleased with Spleenk for his evasive actions. He was _not_, however, pleased when the resulting evasion left to a near crash land almost a mile off their mark.

After securing the ship that an an extra mile of hiking through a scorching desert, because that's where the base just _had_ to be, and a rather intense questioning upon reaching the base. Luckily, Zim was used to these types of questions and used his knowledge and height to dissuade the guards from asking too many questions about himself and his holographically disguised peers but that lead to getting information about the _second_ big problem.

Apparently, they had arrived right on the base during a _prison break_.

A high class Outsider, whatever that was, Zim chose not to ask, had broken free from maximum security only 30 degrees before their arrival. This meant the teams plan about waltzing in and keeping their heads low was now moot and possibly dangerous. _Everybody_ would need to show IDs and credentials to get in and out _and_ there would be a lock down on the base. Yet again, Zim had managed to weasel out of protocol by cutting off the poor guard before they could ask for ID with a, "You_ sniveling INCOMPETENT morons!_ I come out here all the way from the _Massive_ to check our standing and _you_ have let a prisoner escape?! _What_ would the _Tallest_ think of this!? The Galaxy's finest bested by a revolting little _native_!?"

This made the guards balk and shrink back enough for Zim to roughly push them out of the way, sending one poor soul spiraling into the wall and the other he knocked over completely. After a second's hesitation and confusion, Spleenk and Shloonktapooxis hustled in after him, doing their best not to send sympathetic looks the guard's way.

Entering the prison led to by far the _worst_ hurdle, which of course meant it was the bane of Zim's already not great day.

The Commander was far too familiar with the panic prison breaks caused because he'd caused his fair share of them.

And this particular prison break was ever _worse_.

Every Irken was running about, panicked and ill prepared. The Armada considered its people so superior and perfect that these types of things rarely happened. They were too arrogant to prepare for them, so when they _did_ occur it was mayhem. Normally, mayhem would be the perfect cover for infiltration, except for the fact that everyone was in desperate need of guidance.

Guidance only a true Irken leader could provide.

And Zim was masquerading as a Taller.

Instead of being invisible, _every _Irken wanted to say something to Zim – mainly to cover their asses and tell him how _well_ things were going, don't worry and _look how competent I am!_ But occasionally they had stupid and difficult questions that Zim had to either ridicule or laugh off in order to progress because with out access to a terminal to syphon some information, he knew even less than they did.

So far, only lower class soldiers and guards spoke to them so none of them really _questioned_ Zim on who he was or his credentials, his height being validation enough. But their proximity made him increasingly nervous.

There was bound to be another Taller or Elite that would be vying to take control of the situation and would inevitably challenge him. For some stupid reasons Irkens _always_ challenged and blamed each other when a problem arose. By some dumb luck, he just hadn't bumped into someone who had the credentials or _gall_ to challenge him.

Yet.

Bluffing could only do so much, so Zim quickly pulled Shloonktapooxis and Spleenk aside, gave them each wireless transmitters so they could hack the terminals and send whatever they salvaged to the ship, and told them to blend into the crowd.

Those two might not have the moxy to size up another Irken but with this type of chaos they wouldn't have to – their Shorter status would allow them to blend in and see the mission through, Zim was actually a _disadvantage_ now. If they were caught by another Taller _all _of them would go down and they would gain nothing.

Zim had to be the diversion.

Worse, he had to make sure everyone _stayed_ panicked, because the second these idiots calmed down would be the second they wanted his Lieutenants' identification.

That was probably the worst part of it all.

He had to order separation for the good of the mission and had no idea if he'd see his obnoxious comrades again.

He would just have to trust them and hope for the best.

And that's why Zim found himself locked in an abandoned medical lab a few degrees later. With an inmate on the loose no doctors or personnel would be bothering themselves with tending the bacteria or supplies in the lab. Better yet, it had a solid door so no one would be able to peak inside and see what he was doing _and_ it housed a computer terminal.

Perfect.

A wire snaked out of Zim's PAK and connected to the terminal. Upon opening it, he quickly found himself swamped by inmate and patient records, about half a million natives were housed here, which suggested either enilation of the species of other bases. He also found a ridiculous amount of information on, well, just about everything – apparently the creatures who lived here had created their own planetary version of the Galactic Extranet.

The amount of information was overwhelming. Zim hadn't linked his PAK to a foreign computer since updating himself to be even _more_ amazingandhe hadn't quiet mastered his new computing capacity. Before he could control it, his PAK automatically began to download most of the wayward information. And there was _a lot_ of it. When he managed to shut down the download he'd noticed that he not only accidentally stored some of it on himself, but he'd sent a few of the larger files to the R.E.S.I.S.T.Y's ship too.

Whoops.

No harm no foul really, he didn't really _need _those files on the native's biology but it was better to have what he didn't need than need what he didn't have. Besides, he didn't exactly have the time to sort through and clear out the files he'd stolen and they wouldn't hinder him as far as he could tell. Better to press on and sort it out on the ship later.

The biology file reminded Zim that he _did _still need to know if this planet's native species was one they could attempt to recruit for the resistance. Zim spent a few more seconds pulling up and downloading some extra files on the creatures', know as humans, culture and such until it became apparent they would be worse than useless. Understanding the sentient life on this planet _might_ have been helpful if these _hyuumans_ were an even _remotely_ recruitable species, but Zim was now certain they were not. There were several interesting things about these things scientifically speaking; especially their height and languages, but the hyuumans were essentially just monkeys.

_Dumb_ monkeys.

No way one could _ever_ be of use to the R.E.S.I.S.T.Y or their Captain.

With a sigh, Zim decided it was time to stop fooling around and get down to business. He needed to focus on cracking a few of the security encryptions so he could do things like disable cameras, set off alarms and otherwise cause mayhem. So long as the Irkens were scuttling about in a panic trying to fix the base, it would be easy to infiltrate. Ironically, the species did _not _fair well with unscheduled chaos and needed heavy guidance in such situations. Zim hadn't seen any Tallers (besides himself) and he hoped it would be a while before someone competent was able to get everything under control. That way, it would be a simple matter to keep mass panic going amongst the drones.

It was all a simple matter of distraction while Spleenk and Shloonktapooxis were locating the computer mainframe. They would need to find the mainframe because, of course, the drones wouldn't have access to the _real_ information, the juicy stuff.

No, they were just mindless soldiers.

Zim scoffed to himself, he couldn't _believe_ he'd been part of such an imbecilic people. Worse, there was a time he'd actually bought in to that drivel the Tallest fed them.

Beh.

Feeble-minded plebeian _filth_.

Zim let his hands roam casually, almost sensually across the controls; idly overcoming firewalls and codes as if they were nothing. He allowed himself to become lost in his thoughts as he worked, a quiet, distant smile upon his lips. He _loved_ fucking up the Armada in any way possible – it just made his day to know that he would be an inconvenience, however small, to the mighty Irken machine.

There was something insanely relaxing about decimating the base's security system. After weeks in space wondering if he even _could_ stop the Armada, wondering if it was too big a task for their newborn resistance… well, overpowering a secret base off the fringes of Gamma space just seemed like a poetic form of justice. Irk he needed this, this affirmation that he hadn't spent 5 years doing nothing and that he was, in fact, a thorn in his ex-Tallests' sides!

Zim was so wrapped up in his self-satisfactory hacking that he didn't even notice one of the lab doors slide open. It wasn't the main entrance, but one of the extra doors that led to small testing rooms.

Currently, there wasn't anyone there.

Not exactly.

The door had reacted to the movement of a ceiling vent, whose protective cover had mysteriously fallen to the floor near the entrance's motion detectors. Maybe if Zim had ever fallen in the category of someone whom was observant or even vaguely aware of his surroundings, he would have noticed this. If he didn't, then _surely_ he would have noticed as a gangly blob of pinkish, peachy flesh and fluffy black hair wearing a pink prison suit fell out of the ceiling vent and onto a heap on the floor. He _definitely_ would have noticed the very loud, _bang_ as the figure, slightly disoriented, sprung to its gangly feet and accidentally knocked over a set of test tubes.

Really, this intruder was probably the _least_ stealthy creature on the base.

He'd even cursed rather loudly when he hit his elbow on a medical table, sending shocks of sensation that were anything but funny up his arm.

But Zim was Zim.

And thus, he didn't notice.

Besides being an extremely obsessive person, the Irken had an extraordinary talent in shortsightedness and tunnel vision.

Honestly, the Irken was having so much fun causing mayhem amongst his kind that nothing short of a punch to the skull would have gotten him to notice the intruder that was currently eyeing him.

At first, the creature had thought Zim was a normal observant person, cursed himself for being loud and quickly crouched, hiding himself. A heavy silence fell where the intruder counted forty of his own heart beats and, perplexed, stole a quick peek at the Irken who was standing in front of the computer terminals. His hands were moving with a lighting precision and his large red eyes were only for the screen. Obviously, the alien had heard nothing.

After it became apparent that Zim possessed the observational skills of a rock, the intruder slowly stood up and, after watching for a moment, took a hesitant step into the med bay.

The intruder was none other than the escaped prisoner that'd caused such uproar. He was still wearing his prison jumpsuit, a horrible pink stripy thing, and held the shock spear he'd stolen close to his body. How exactly he'd managed to get into the air ducts and still somehow bring along the weapon was a mystery unto itself.

Carefully, so as not to make a sound, the escapee quickly circled around Zim, who only appeared to be a Taller in the prisoner's eyes – and therefore an enemy. Zim, who was already oblivious by nature, had managed to hack into the security system and was too busy ruining the base to notice the creature creeping up on him. He'd gotten busy redirecting the workers away from the main computer room and already set all the cameras on a loop, froze the PA and alarm systems so they would squeal like a Blortian hog-monkey if anyone touched them and was currently reprogramming some janitorial drones to 'clean' the computer monitor systems with copious amounts of fluid and other non-computer friendly substances. There were also several robotic slavers he'd sent on a rampage through the cafeteria. The imminent peril to snacks would definitely be drawing a lot of attention.

While Zim was unleashing snack slaying carnage the prisoner had managed to get behind Zim. With a flick of his thumb he powered up the shock spear. Zim's antenna perked up at the noise, finally taking notice, but before he even had the chance to glance behind him the intruder struck driving the tip of the spear inside one of the open ports on Zim's PAK. It only took a split second for the spear to deliver it's deadly blow. At the push of a button about a thousand watts of electricity overwhelmed the Commander's circuitry; his body to shook violently like a marionette controlled by a mad puppeteer. When the electricity stopped his body went ramrod straight, his claret eye grew wide and he drunkenly teetered in place for a few seconds. Then his eyes went black like a computer screen abruptly shutting off and he collapsed upon the computer terminal.

"Pathetic." The prisoner scoffed, looking at the defenseless Irken. "So you're the best this place has got, huh?"

He walked over and pushed Zim's inert body off the computer terminal unsympathetically to get a better look at what he was checking out, thinking there must be important files or lockdown codes – something he might be able to override. He was surprised instead to find that this particular Irken had already done most of his work for him, if the bugged security system was any indicator. It was also rather strange that everything that had been accessed was running a subroutine. In other words, it had been hacked.

But shouldn't a Taller have access to the whole base?

Why did he have to hack basic security files?

The prisoner eyed Zim, slightly annoyed at how useless he was turning out to be and only vaguely curious as to why he was seemingly messing up the base. A traitor maybe? It didn't matter; he needed to find a way out of here before the others found him.

He roughly yanked the information syphon cables attached to the computer out roughly, uncaring if he damaged the unconscious Irken's PAK and flipped his shock spear in his hands, intending to dispose of the useless thing and hack the systems himself. Luckily for Zim, thanks to the tension on the cables created from being thrown, they retracted much faster than they normally would have and knocked his holo-watch askew, and consequentially turned it off, in the process.

The prisoner, who'd been preparing to skewer Zim through his skull, stopped.

The holo-watch had been emitting a false Armada uniform in order for Zim to blend in but now it no longer holographically disguised him and his Resisty uniform was visible. And it was a _navy _jumpsuit.

Maybe that wouldn't have stopped another human, but this particular human had done more than fight Irkens for the past several years.

He'd been studying them.

And he knew that Irkens never _ever_ wore blue. It was the color of their biggest enemies the Vortians – at least it was until the Armada had conquered them. Considering that their typical pink, purple and magenta uniforms weren't just signs of alliance to the Empire but to their planet, their customs and most importantly to conquest, the situation was even stranger. Not wearing pink was like wearing a white flag – and Irkens _didn't_ surrender.

By wearing blue this Irken had essentially surrendered to the Vortians.

A _conquered_ species.

Suddenly, the human wasn't very sure if this Irken was even affiliated with this base at all. But – Irkens didn't leave the Empire. Did they?

Who exactly was this?

The escapee knew it was in his best interest to simply dispose of this Irken and get out of here, but he's always had an insatiable curiosity and, despite hating them, loved learning new things about the aliens. Besides, he couldn't help but feel this Irken knew something. He might not have had much to base that on, but his gut never seemed to steer him wrong so he decided to prepare.

He searched the lab and found some restraints typically used to keep patients still for medical procedures, but it would do a great job keeping a feisty Irken immobile. The escapee squatted down and quickly tied up his new prisoner, covering his mouth for good measure. Then he began to rummage around the lab until he found a small contingency plan.

Some of the humans on base needed a little convincing to subject themselves to the invasive medical procedures the staff gave them and were forced to wear shock collars. After rummaging around for a bit, the prisoner found one of these collars and went back to Zim. He quickly opened the alien's PAK with an override sequence and began rummaging around inside. It was an invasive procedure and the human quickly rearranged several live wires within the device to accommodate the collar, which, until expanded, was only about the size of a golf ball.

Maybe deciding to stay and interrogate this Irken was a dumb idea, but at least he wasn't being stupid about it. If the Irken so much as tried something, he could fry him from the inside out. Better yet, a few modifications and the collar was set to a timer of about five hours. If the prisoner wasn't around to disable it, then Zim would die at the end of that time.

Viola!

Contingency plan.

That way he could question this alien scum to his heart's content, kill him if need be and get the hell out of this shitty prison. Nothing too hard!

It'd be fine!

Right?

**Hope this chapter made sense and ya'll liked it! Not gunna lie – I speed wrote a lot of this because I didn't want to make you wait another month (also alcohol may or may not have been involved) XD If you spot any mistakes let me know and I'll fix it, otherwise I hope ya'll still like what you're reading and thanks for all your support!**


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